The Hard Six
by clevergirl36
Summary: Roll The Hard Six: v. To achieve something partially through intense skill and partially through luck.


"Did you mean what you said?"

Laura threw the question at him point blank, a verbal boxing glove, as if the drawn-out silence between them in his quarters was merely a continuation of the speech he'd made moments ago. He winced at she carefully withdrew the stinging ice away from his bloodied cheek.

His eyes closed and face still scrunched from the pain, he scoffed "Doesn't it look like I meant it?" Bill knew her thoughts, knew that New Caprica had drawn the two of them closer and that his spiel in the ring condemned all of it. The title of Admiral doesn't include babysitter for the crew, and it certainly doesn't entail being chummy with the Prez. He leaned further back onto the chair at his desk.

She paid no attention to his sarcasm, but simply walked to the head of his cabin and dampened a towel under the faucet of his austere bathroom. He listened to her patter across the room and heard the rushing water, noting to himself that the distance between the desk and the sink apparently took five mid-sized steps.  
"Is it so terrible to let someone in once in a while? " He cracked an eyelid to find her sitting on the edge of his cluttered desk facing him, green eyes focused on his bruised jaw. As she raised the towel to apply to his face, he wondered which knob she'd turned on the faucet. Warm, he mused as the strokes of her hand washed the blood from his cheek. Almost hot, but mostly soothing, comforting, familiar; replacing the ice. "We're in the middle of a war" He growled through clenched teeth.

She continued, "A war we're fighting just for a chance to be human again, are we not? And from what I recall, being human means laughing and fighting together just the same." She had settled her free hand at the base of his neck, now cradling his head from all sides. Still cleaning up the fresh wounds, she couldn't help but trace her thumb along the rough grooves of his darkened skin. She felt his mouth shifting slowly into a grin. She was getting through.

"How did you get this scar?" she murmured. Maybe diverting the subject would open him up, and the healed gash she just discovered spanning his neck seemed to be a worthy route. That voice of hers drove him crazy, smooth and velvety with an ever-pressing edge.

The grin endured. "Nice distraction, Roslin." Even so, he instinctively raised a hand to the nape of his next, brushing against hers in the process. Her chest tightened as he clutched her hand in his and lowered it towards his chest, spreading her palm with his other hand.

"Caprica's tylium mines were a key capture point in the first war. The machines had outposts here, here, and here." With each 'here' he touched a point on her palm; under the pinky, near the thumb, and at her wrist. She noticed his growl had turned smoother, more mechanical as he launched into tactics. It made her shudder.

"My squad's mission was to secure this refinery, again to her wrist, and from there force our way into the mine shafts." He drew a straight line to the center of her hand as she fought to keep the goosebumps showing on her exposed forearm.

"Preserving the tylium was our highest priority- without fuel, the fleet's wings are clipped. We fought our way into the refinery and were met by centurions as far as the eye could see. Some idiot decided pulling a grenade was a great first move." He closed her hand into a fist and gently returned it to her lap.

"Pausing for effect, Admiral?" she smirked. Feeling his hot breath on her face, she realized how close she had leaned in, being drawn closer by his storytelling.  
His voice seemed slower and rumbled like a subwoofer,

"Know much about tylium, Ms. Roslin? Before it's refined, the ore is extremely-"

"Volatile." She breathed. "It sublimates very quickly, and the fumes can be explosive when exposed to pressure or heat." His blue stare bore into her. "What? You think I was going to let a giant tylium ship join the fleet without knowing a bit about it first?" Silence. "Bill, I-" She stopped as he tenderly placed a wave of her hair behind her ear and chuckled softly. The appreciation in his eyes spoke oceans of his feelings towards her.

"The fire from that blast was hotter than anything I could imagine. Shrapnel everywhere, a couple inches higher and that shard of steel would have taken my damn ear off." He delicately ran his hand through her locks and contemplated its reddness. "That flash of orange and crimson…a sight I'll never forget." His rough voice reached barely a whisper now.

In a moment of pure confidence she tilted her face, leaned down, and brushed her lips along the scar in a soft kiss. She hovered near his ear and spoke in a tone laced with smugness, "See, that wasn't so bad."

"You said before you enjoy a good fight...got that from your father." His face once again feigned emotion, probably to frustrate her efforts, she figured. "What was he like?"

Her sigh that followed held a hint of defeat, and she moved from the desk to study the intricate carvings on the Admiral's bookshelf. She explained as her hands ran across the deep grooves, "He wasn't one to coddle us- I suppose I can be thankful for that. He knew firsthand life wasn't about fairness. His job as a government worker left him cynical towards the world, while my mother only gained more optimism day after day working with bright young children. Their divorce did nothing to help his bitterness, which carried on as a warning on to us- life wasn't easy. We grew up knowing that, seeing that."

Her voice had diminished to nothing more than a hushed confession, "I know he still loved her, it was painfully obvious. She went to the grave never knowing just how much he cared."

Her mind was quickly yanked back to reality as she heard Bill's baritone rumbling behind her, "Maybe that's why you became a teacher. Seeing your mother's vibrancy, your father's hate...you chose a side, you chose which life you would live."

She laughed at the idea, at the accuracy in which he could read through her words. He'd always have that ability. "Well look at me now...I wouldn't say I was the opposite of a disillusioned government worker with an argumentative side." Laura shook her head at the cruel irony, how avoiding her father's same fate had only led her straight to it.

"Well at least you've got one more chance than your old man did."

She whirled around to face him and tilted her head quizzically. "And what would that be, Bill?"

"You can let me know, right now, how you feel about me before the both of us are gone." He was still sitting squarely rooted at his desk with his hands behind his head. "Because quite frankly, I'm in love with you."

His slightly amused face registered the same emotion as if he had merely just said 'the weather sure is nice.'

Laura inhaled sharply. It wasn't a gasp, as a gasp would indicate surprise. No- it was a physical reaction to the satisfaction she felt hearing those words, to grasp the depth of their meaning.

Silence hung in the air, not because Laura needed time to mull it over, but because her lips would form nothing but the widest grin for those few seconds.

"I think you know how I feel...good thing you read me like a book, huh."

He lifted himself from his guarded domain and stood in front of her. "I had my doubts...however, I always have enjoyed a beautiful mystery." Her smile was infectious, he couldn't help but beam as his hand glided over her prominent cheekbone.

"Sometimes, you gotta roll the hard six, Admiral."

Her lips reached for his as he gingerly slid her jacket from her shoulders. It wasn't a testament to her fragility as a woman in the arms of a powerful man- she was the strongest person he'd ever known. It was his reverence for her flowing hair, piercing, yet kind eyes, and resounding will that could only be matched by his own. As skin met skin and lips explored bodies, the silent acknowledgement hung heavy in the air- she was right, and he knew it.


End file.
